Joanna's water broke unexpectedly on Thursday night, and we labored through it together (in a sense) all night long. She pulled it off naturally, with some light drugs in her IV drip to take the edge off. Still, I've never seen her in more pain - and have never been more proud to stand by her side. She progressed quickly with the "help" of pitocin, and by 8am, it was time to push. I held one leg while the nurse held the other, and watched as our daughter came into the world. It was surreal.
I tried mostly in vain to read the Psalms and pray aloud during Joanna's labor - I was so overcome with the experience, and seeing her endure so much that I choked almost every time I opened my mouth. It's something I've seen my own Dad experience countless times before. Jo's father has similar moments when he will "fall silent" in prayer or conversation if he's feeling especially emotional.
For me, it was the feeling that an explosive sob was lurking just below the surface - threatening to emasculate if I so much as spoke another word. A week later I can see that the deeper cause was more like a consuming gratefulness.Gratefulness to be married to the woman of my dreams, to have the opportunity to become a Dad, to have a healthy and whole child, and to know that God had chosen Jo and I to be her parents. Although we were surprised to discover the process was beginning in December of 2010; walking through the moment, contraction by contraction, it couldn't have felt more on purpose - meant to be - even orchestrated.
And it left me speechless.
Through it - I felt engrafted into the fraternity of speechless, grateful Dads; verklempt and unable to utter a sound. Not emasculated, but reborn as something "more man" than I was before. Metamorphosed into something deeper perhaps. I wonder if it happens each time you have a child, or if it even happens to every dude who becomes "Dad"?
Finally, as I cut the cord and Everly Ivy Tongue was placed on Jo's chest for the first time, I cut loose and did burst into sobbing tears. No good reason to hold back - no chance to pull it off if I had tried.
